


Pet Therapy

by blackchaps



Series: People Aren't Pets [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: This little blurb is tucked inside my other story, 'Therapy Pet,' in that time period after Clint is arrested by SHIELD. It only makes sense if you've read the first one. Plot? Not so much!





	Pet Therapy

*********

Catching him wasn’t possible, not at the speeds Iron Man achieved, but Clint knew his motorcycles, and the one tucked in the back of the shop, dusty from disuse was one of the fastest in the world, before Tony had gotten hold of it. Rhodey ran for his pickup, cursing the entire way, and Clint rushed getting his gear, but he made sure it was secured. It wasn’t long before Clint swerved around Rhodey and punched it.

Clint wasn’t worried about the fact he had no idea where they were going. He’d look for flames on the horizon and head that way.

“Hawkeye, go home.”

“Oh, hell no,” Clint said, hating Obie so much. “He thinks he can come into your house and pull this shit? I’m going to stuff an arrow so far up his ass!”

“You can’t risk it!”

Not for even one second did Clint care. Pepper was in trouble, Tony needed help, and Clint found another gear. “I do what I want. Now fly. We gotta get to Pepper before he does.”

Tony said nothing else, so Clint took that to mean that no one was going to try to stop him. “Keep me in the loop, Jarvis.”

“I will endeavor to do so. Loading coordinates into your comm unit. Please follow the directions.”

“No promises.” Clint hunkered down and pushed the bike for every ounce of speed it had, which turned out to be enough to make him yell with glee. He was close enough to hear the first explosion, but he arrived to see rubble and a terrified Pepper, screaming at the sky. In the distance, there was another boom, and he abandoned the bike to grab her and get her to safety. “Where is he?”

Pepper pointed in a rough direction, and they both hunkered down. “Stay here. Rhodey is on his way. Stay with him. Get the hell away from here!”

She nodded. “Hawkeye, help him.”

“Will do.” Clint ran towards the trouble instead of away, knowing the roof was the best choice. The place was a wreck, and he nearly fell over the first body. He dropped to his knees, checked for a pulse, and kept moving. The next guy was groaning, and Clint helped him up to sitting. “How many more?”

“Find Coulson.” The words were a bare whisper.

“Shit.” Clint picked the guy up in a fireman’s carry and ran him out of the building to Pepper. He didn’t hesitate, turning to go back inside. Rubble everywhere and destroyed machinery, and a thread of panic made him pant. There, he spotted a suit, and he fell to his knees, turning him. It wasn’t Coulson, and the poor guy was dead. Desperate now, Clint ran deeper into the building. “Coulson!”

No answer, but something fell, and Clint bolted that direction without thinking. A scrap of white caught his eye, and he dived under a bent railing. “Coulson!” He grabbed the metal sheet and wrenched it back, so glad when Coulson scuttled out, eyes wide.

“Thanks, Hawkeye.”

Clint supposed with a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back it’d be stupid to deny it. “Two of your guys are dead. I took one wounded out to Pepper. Rhodey should be here soon to help. I gotta get to the roof.”

Coulson brushed off his suit. “You’re under arrest.”

“Later. Right now, I have to help Tony.” Clint yanked his bow off his quiver, snapped it out to its full extension, and took another look at him. “You good?”

“Lead the way.”

It was ridiculous to grin, but Clint liked the simple trust in those three words.

“Hawkeye! What’s your ETA?”

“On site. Pepper is safe with Rhodey. Shield agents were hit hard.”

“Get your ass home.”

Clint snorted and got moving with Coulson right behind him. Getting to the roof required some creative thinking in the rubble, but Clint managed it easily enough, only pulling Coulson to safety once. The instant he saw it, he fired, barely hearing Coulson’s muttered curse about hating robots. His hearing aids were hanging in there, and he blew the shit out of the monstrosity, aiming for weak spots and trying to give Tony some support. Coulson emptied his clip, but bullets didn’t do much.

“We gotta blow the roof. Hawkeye! Get down there! Use your-.”

“I know which damn arrow to use!” Hawkeye fired and dropped through into the control room, sliding down a taut line. “Get Coulson clear!”  
Coulson didn’t listen at all, landing not far away and helping Clint through the overload sequence.

“Hawkeye! Blow it!”

“You’ll die!” But Clint could see they were overmatched, and he slapped the button that would kill his friend. They had to run, and he grabbed Coulson by the arm, and they ran for their lives. The explosion fried his hearing aids, and he slapped them out as he ran, making sure Coulson was in front to protect him from shrapnel. Luckily, Coulson could run, and they made it to the street before being blown down. Clint made sure not to land on Coulson, and he stayed down, in a heap, trying to breathe, coughing and hacking.

“Tony,” Clint whispered, gaze going to what was left of the rooftop. 

Men, probably Shield agents, pulled Clint to his feet, and he was too dazed to even think of running away. They took his bow from him, and what was left of the arrows. Clint frowned at Coulson, who was brushing off his suit, bleeding from a cut on his forehead.  
Coulson mouthed something at him, but Clint couldn’t hear a damn thing, and he could only stare, thinking of different choices he should’ve made along the way.

“Pepper, Coulson. Take care of her,” Clint said. “Please.” He didn’t even jerk as his arms were pulled back and his hands were cuffed together. “Coulson!”

Finally, Coulson answered. Clint had to squint but he was fairly sure Coulson said he would. One thing Clint did know was that Happy was devoted to her. They pulled a black bag over his head, and Clint let them haul him into a vehicle. Tony might still be alive. It was possible. That suit had been nearly indestructible. Of course, without a helmet, his face had been burned off. Clint leaned until he found something to hold him up and shut his eyes. He hurt, and he was tired, and his friend was dead.

It was stupid to miss his nest, and Jarvis, but Clint was no fool. Shield had been looking for him for years, and they had a cell reserved for him, probably the one next to Trickshot. He was groggy when they jerked him out, and there was a short drag before they tossed him down on a hard metal surface. He could feel vibrations, and the way it ramped up made him think he was on a helicopter. He tried to get his knees. Chains kept him down, and he quit, curling as much as he could and going to that headspace he saved for kennels.

He jerked awake when hands grabbed, and once again, he was on the move. His head drooped from lack of water, but he knew better than to complain. Enough of his body ached without adding a beating. They put him in a chair, started removing his restraints, and popped off the hood. Clint squinted against the light, trying to lick his lips. “Tony? Is he okay?” He was sure his voice was nothing but a croaked whisper, and he didn’t even know if there was someone to listen.

His eyes adjusted, and a bald guy with a patch stared back at him from across a table, arms crossed. The guy said something, but Clint didn’t catch a word of it.

“Tony?” Clint tried again, not caring if he was shouting. “Is he alive?”

The guy nodded, and Clint whooshed out a breath of relief. Whatever happened to him was fine. He’d earned it, after all. He rubbed his sore wrists and waited, not moving all that much. Sure, he hurt, but he’d had worse. At least they hadn’t stripped him naked. He flinched back and looked up when the guy moved closer. His lips moved, and Clint stared, trying to focus. Clint coughed and scrubbed a filthy hand over his crusty eyes.

“I’m not going to fight.” Clint wondered if he were even close to the question. He coughed again and found himself staring at his boots. Not thinking was easy, and really, he’d known his cushy life with Tony wasn’t going to last. He would always be treated like a pet, no matter that the chip was gone.

A hand landed on his knee, and he looked up, reluctantly, deciding not to flinch back from the blows. The guy’s mouth moved, and Clint watched carefully.

“Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you.”

“That’s the truth.” Clint flexed his hands and shook out his shoulders. A shower would be heaven, but it was a recent luxury, and he didn’t expect anything. He’d had that beaten out of him years ago. No pet in the United States expected anything but a punch across the face.

Clint remembered when they’d just been poor, not pets, but President Trump had run out of brown people to deport and had turned his sights on the poor, whether black or white. They were American citizens, and impossible to get rid of, but all those deportation centers were growing empty, and money could only be made if they were full. A couple of executive orders, eliminating welfare and establishing the new system, with smiling Republicans in attendance, and the roundups had begun. Clint remembered the chip being injected into his back. Barney had fought them, but it hadn’t mattered.

“I’m not a pet!” Clint snarled, not caring if he was yelling. “I’m not!”

“No, you’re not.” The guy gave him a tiny pat, which was stupid. “Not everyone agrees with the policies of the US government. We provide death certificates and new identities.”

Not believing him was the easiest thing to do. Clint put his hands on his face and waited to be taken to his cell. When a hand pulled under his arm, he went, surprised when they ended up in an infirmary. A nurse shepherded him through a shower, an examination, and a lady doctor put in a couple of stitches. Clint did whatever they wanted. He knew Tony would be disappointed in his lack of fight, but it seemed awful to hurt people who were trying to help him. That made him pause. Maybe Tony wouldn’t be disappointed, after all.

Two men, clearly guards, escorted him from the infirmary down a long hallway to a door. One of them opened it, and Clint went into his cell. The only thing he saw was the food, and he didn’t watch them shut and lock the door because he had to eat, and the small table tucked in the corner was groaning with food. Real food. Mashed potatoes and fried chicken food, and he ate until his stomach protested. Only then did he look around, and the room wasn’t half-bad. It had a bed, a desk, the table, and a decent bathroom. Of course, all of this would fit in Tony’s guest bathroom, but Clint was going to be fine. There was even a mini-fridge, and he put away the food for later, finding cold water as well. Full, clean, and feeling not as terrible as before, he went to sit on the bed.

Sitting upright became too much work, and he slid under the blankets, unwilling to take his clothes off. The pillow was a good one, and he took a deep breath, not remembering the next.

********

By the ninth meal, delivered by security guards who looked at him curiously, Clint was bored out of his mind. Pushups only kept him so busy, and he was used to the constant chaos of Tony Stark. Every time the door opened, he was on his feet, hoping for some action. Jail, it turned out, was damn dull. He wondered if Trickshot was as bored, and he almost wished they were interrogating him, just to have someone around.

The lights, it turned out, were motion-activated, and if he stood still too long, they shut off. He played with that between one meal and the next before growing even more bored. When the door opened, he glanced that way and then paused his sit ups in shock.

Coulson took a quick look around and made a gesture at him that Clint choose to interpret as ‘follow me’ and he did. They went down several floors and long hallways before Coulson opened a door to an office. Thrilled to be somewhere else, Clint hopped up on the chair and eyed the ceiling vent.

“Whatever you say I did, I’m guilty.” Clint wasn’t going to bother lying. Coulson tugged on Clint’s arm to make him sit and handed him a box. Clint dug out the hearing aids quickly, but he took his time to get them right before speaking again. “Hi, Coulson.” He prayed he didn’t sound as dorky as he felt.

“Hello, Hawkeye.” Coulson might’ve smiled, a tiny bit. “First, Stark is fine. Back home, and probably breaking any number of laws.”

“I’m relieved.” Clint grinned, unable to stop himself. “And Pepper is good?”

“Yes, and thank you for doing what you could for my agents on the ground.” Coulson nodded, looking very serious. “You also saved my life, which is no small thing.”

“Not to me.” Clint wanted to clap his hand over his mouth. He needed to stop being an idiot. It was just that he was lonely after being in solitary confinement. Unable to sit, he got up and paced around the office, touching this and that, wanting to know everything about Coulson. “Do you have a detention center on site? So, we could have lunch once a year or something?”

“I assume after your posh life with Stark that you’ll want cavier? Perhaps champagne?” Coulson had a clear smirk on his face and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

Clint found himself smiling, even though he wanted to act tough. “Cordon Bleu and expensive scotch is more like it. But one time, there was this steak from Japan? Delicious. I ate two.”

“Five hundred dollars each. You were a very pampered pet.” Coulson had been opening a laptop, rummaging through his desk and getting out this and that. “Your accommodations here have been sorely lacking.”

It was right on the tip of his tongue to tell Coulson that Tony had adopted him, that he was a citizen again, but he swallowed the words down because none of it mattered except that Coulson looked at him like a pet. A goddamn pet. Clint felt heat rise in his face, and he could almost feel a collar around his neck. Coulson was quality, and to think that he’d ever consider Clint as husband material was beyond ridiculous. Hell, Clint was ashamed that he’d ever even thought it. He was nothing but a fight ring pet. He paced to the door, yanked it open, and said, “I gotta piss.”

Coulson raised his hand and opened his mouth, but then he just nodded, and Clint fled. It wasn’t brave, and he was lucky Coulson didn’t send security after him. Clint retraced his steps to his cell, slammed through the door, and went to piss. Done, he washed his hands and splashed some cold water on his face. He took a very deep breath and looked in the plastic mirror. His face showed some mileage, and he’d picked up a black eye somewhere in the fight with Tony. Thinking of him made Clint hope that the crazy genius was doing okay.

“Hawkeye?”

Turning fast, Clint made sure his face showed nothing, no emotion. Coulson’s eyebrows went up, and he took a small step back so Clint didn’t feel pushed.

“Are you okay?”

Desperate to talk about something other than that, Clint dredged up a memory. “You almost had me in Barcelona. Good times, huh?”

Coulson’s eyebrows went up. “You shot me.”

“Just in the arm.” Clint rolled his eyes. “I had to, anyway. Trickshot ordered me to kill you. I pretended to miss.”

“I had no idea.” Coulson frowned. “How many of my agents did you shoot on that mission?”

Clint tried not to blush. “All of them?” He rushed on, “I was careful not to really hurt anyone! I swear!”

“I believe you.” Coulson sounded like he did. “But why?”

Now, Clint was a little confused. “No reason to kill. We’d already made our score, and Trickshot was being a dick. He beat my ass and said he’d taught me better, but I didn’t care.” Now he could see that Coulson was getting a little upset. He would avoid talking about the past in the future. “Sorry.”

Coulson put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor for a moment, but it was long enough to make Clint realize that he was being a dumbass. He needed to save this. “Listen, I’m guilty. Lock me away. I’m good with it.”

“Why didn’t you take off when I came to Stark’s? You recognized me, even if I wasn’t sure about you, not at first. He would’ve helped you disappear.”

Clint had no idea how to answer that. He’d had his reasons, lots of them. He was willing to say, “Stark’s a good guy, you know? They tortured the shit out of him in Afghanistan, and he came home to no one. I mean, I know he’s an asshole, but most people are, at least a little. Here’s a guy who had everything, except someone to help him when he really needed it.” He took a breath and realized he’d probably said too much.

“So, you fell in love with him?”

“What? Are you damn crazy?” Clint paced to the bed and flopped down it. “I’m done here. Just shut the door of my cell as you leave. See you never.”

“These are first-year agent quarters. The door isn’t even locked from the outside.” Coulson frowned. “I need more information. Rest. We’ll talk later.” He hesitated. “If you don’t run back to Stark.”

Clint kept his game face on, but he felt so stupid. He hadn’t even tried the door. What kind of criminal was he? A bad one, obviously. Coulson turned on his heel and left, not rushing, and Clint didn’t shout after him. Clint was too busy being embarrassed. He tucked himself under the covers and held perfectly still until the lights flicked off. He was a goddamn idiot.

********

After pulling up all the files on the Barcelona fiasco, Coulson needed a cup of coffee. He knew he was making a mistake with Hawkeye, but he didn’t know what he was doing wrong, not yet. There was a small mirror tucked in the corner, in case he needed to check his tie, and he knew it was ridiculous, but he took off his coat and tie before stripping down his shirt.

“Isn’t that the scar Hawkeye gave you in Barcelona?” Fury came in without knocking, of course, and he took up a lot of space without any effort.

Coulson tugged his shirt back over it and sighed. “Hawkeye says he missed on purpose. Trickshot wanted me dead, but Hawkeye had other ideas.”

“And the other agents?” Fury handed Coulson his jacket.

“Hawkeye shot them. All of them. Or so he says.” Coulson made sure his tie was correct. “He thinks he’s in a cell, and he pled guilty to his crimes.”

“I like him.” Fury looked impressed. “All of them? Even Garrett?”

“I assume so, but how could he have? Garrett was well-hidden and no one had broken his cover.”

“Shot in the shoulder.” Fury picked up Coulson’s fresh coffee and slurped on it. “Sniper got him.”

“Impossible shot.” Coulson shook his head, scanning through the files quickly. “Not unless Hawkeye can--”

“It was him.” Fury interrupted. “I arranged the death certificate for Clint Barton. When you decide what we’re going to do with him, I’ll send it through. Car accidents are hell on stray pets.”

“He’s not a damn pet!” Coulson snapped, and his mind clicked around to his previous conversation with Hawkeye. He now knew what he’d done wrong. He’d just have to figure out how to make it right. “And why is it my decision?”

“Because he shot you.” Fury drained the coffee cup. “Go talk to him. Figure it out, but whatever happens, quit mooning over him.”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson beat Fury out the door, ignoring what he didn’t want to hear, especially because it was true.

********

It might’ve been dark in his room, but Clint gave up on the idea of sleeping. He got up, straightened his clothes, scrubbed a wet hand through his hair, and went to cautiously try his door. It opened easily. He felt really stupid, but he wasn’t going to stop that from letting him explore a bit. There might be a range, or a cafeteria, or something else good. He supposed he could go back to Tony, if he wanted, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted.

Living in Tony’s shop wasn’t much of a life, but it was better than the pound. Okay, it was better than any part of Clint’s life so far, to be fair. It was stupid of him to maybe want something more, or someone more. Elevators and hallways, and a lot of locked doors, and two people walked past him without a word. Finally, he smelled mashed potatoes, and he went that way. The cafeteria was large, busy, and he fell into line, got a tray, and practically swooned at all the choices. He picked some things he’d never eaten, more fruit than he could identify, and six desserts, because he could. He also filled his pockets with packaged foods.

No one asked for money, and there was no cash register, so he found a table at the back, where he could see the doors, picked up his fork, and smiled. No one sat near him, but no one pointed and called security, so he called it a win, watching the big screen TV and slowly making his way through the food. A couple of his choices weren’t to his taste, so he moved on, not wasting stomach space on them.

“Can I get you something to drink?” One of the circulating staff stopped to ask him.

“Lemonade?” Clint couldn’t remember ever having it.

“Sure! I’ll be right back.” The guy returned and didn’t see angry about it. Clint thanked him, and the guy grinned and went back to work. It looked like a pretty good job, better than killing people he didn’t know for reasons he didn’t agree with. Maybe Coulson would give Clint a job like that, instead of prison.

Clint decided he’d carefully describe all the people he hadn’t killed, and maybe it’d convince Coulson to find him another choice that didn’t involve bars. He was on his last dessert, surrounded by the remains of his meal, and having decided that he liked lemonade, when Coulson came through the door, eyes searching.

Well, Clint had worried him by leaving his little room. Good. Clint narrowed his eyes at him but made no move. Coulson’s shoulders came down a little, and he grabbed up a tray, not taking his eyes off Clint. Clint put his fork back to work, refusing to watch him, even if he wanted to. He didn’t even look up when Coulson sat down across from, dropping his tray the last inch.

“I didn’t know I liked lemonade,” Clint said, and he wondered if he’d ever say anything that wasn’t stupid around this man.

“Not my favorite.” Coulson shrugged, starting to eat. Clint couldn’t help but analyze the food on his plate. A small salad, plain chicken, and apple slices: and he bit his tongue not to ask a dumb question. Coulson noticed, however. “Had a big breakfast.”

“Just thinking I might get some apple.” Clint rummaged through his remains and decided to eat the orange stuff after all.

“You like yams?”

“Not really.” Clint shrugged. “Not terrible though.” He just couldn’t shut up. “The pie was really good, especially the red piece.”

“Cherry.” Coulson nodded. He went back to eating, keeping his tie back and somehow looking classy while eating salad. Clint looked at his own pile of wreckage and almost laughed. He was a guard dog, and Coulson was a gentleman. Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Something funny?”

“Just laughing at my appetite.” Clint wouldn’t do it again. He’d control himself. “I guess getting blown up made me hungry.”

“They told me you didn’t eat much before I got here.” Coulson shrugged. “You took the brunt of the blast. The doctors patched you up?”

“They were nice.” Clint wasn’t mentioning the stitches in his back. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Coulson left it there and returned to his food.

Clint shut up, trying not to even breathe deeply or make any facial expressions that would give away his thoughts. Coulson was obviously very good at picking up body language. He wiped his mouth and nudged his tray away, some food still on it.

“Were you really drunk? That time you rolled out of the limo?”

“No.” Clint had been tipsy, but nowhere near drunk. “We’d come from seeing Rhodey. The Air Force wouldn’t let me on base without a leash and a collar.”

“I’m aware of the policy. I’m glad to hear Stark wasn’t just leashing you for fun.” Coulson had a growl in his voice.

Clint felt as if he had to defend his friend. “Oh, hell no. I had to find one, put it on, and make him take it. He didn’t even want to touch it. He’s really helping the pet population in America. Just last week, he got Canada to take fifty thousand as political refugees. Pepper was furious.”

Coulson sat up straight. “Why?”

“Oh, she wanted to meet Justin Trudeau, the prime minister of Canada. Apparently, he’s a real cutie.” Clint had no idea either way, having never met him. “I hope Tony’s okay.”

“I hope so, too.” Coulson seemed to mean it. “You can go back to him, if you want. We’ll just consider you a full-time bodyguard for him. You’ll even get a paycheck from us.”

Tilting his head, Clint tried to understand. Coulson didn’t sound enthusiastic about that choice for Clint’s future. “You keep pushing me at Stark. You want me to leave?”

“No!” Coulson might’ve blushed. There was definite color in his cheeks. “You… just… haven’t ever been able to make any decisions about your life, and I want you to have that, now.”

"How can I know what I want, when I don't know anything but killing?” Clint flushed hard and jumped to his feet. He spotted a trash can and started cleaning up his lunch disaster. Coulson gave him a look that was impossible to decipher but went back to eating his chicken. When Clint’s side of the table was clean, he had no idea what to do. Reluctantly, feeling ridiculous, he sat back down across from Coulson and waited for words he didn’t want to hear.

“If you decide to stay here at Shield, we’ll work with you to find you a job that makes you happy,” Coulson said, slowly and carefully, voice pitched low as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “It will be your choice.”

“Your organization would do that for a fucking pet?” Clint wasn’t keeping his voice low, and he didn’t care. “Nothing but a banged-up neuter who would do great in the fight rings? Really?”

Whatever Coulson said was lost to the roar in Clint’s mind. People were staring, some whispering, and he wanted to disappear. His feet took him towards the door, and he was gone before he fully thought about it. There was no way he was going to trust Shield, ever, and it didn’t matter that some part of him whispered that he could trust Coulson. Coulson was one man – a good one – but just one guy. Once a pet, always a pet – that’s what people said, and Clint had a lifetime of experiences that proved the truth of it.

He turned a corner, and the guy with the eye patch from interrogation was standing in the way. Clint stopped, knowing authority when he saw it. This was probably the guy who would escort Clint to detention. There was no running away now.

“With me.” The deep voice expected to be obeyed, and Clint sighed softly but fell into step with him, following him through the building. “I see you found the cafeteria.”

Clint pressed his lips together so he didn’t say something stupid, again. He went for the shrug, not surprised when the corridors finally led to a large corner office. Unable to stop himself, he went to stare out at the view. “I’m in Washington?”

“It’s our main office, The Triskelion.” The guy claimed a chair that wasn’t behind the big desk. “I’m Nick Fury, by the way, and the boss around here.”

“Knew that.” Clint didn’t turn from the windows, enjoying the sunshine and wishing he could… just… go for a walk, grab a coffee, do something normal people did, but that had been taken from him long ago, and it wasn’t ever coming back. “You help pets here?”

“We do. Shield was founded on the idea of freedom. We are the shield that protects the innocent.” Fury shrugged. “Ever heard of Captain America?”

“My education was lacking. You ever sleep in a crate or wear a choke collar?” Clint bit out the words, the anger deep and worn. He wasn’t interested in the answer. The idea of freedom was a great one; it just wasn’t the world he lived in. “You think Trump will ever not be president?”

“Yes.” Fury came over to stand beside him. “The resistance is strong, and we will succeed.”

“Or he’ll die, and his son will be elected in a landslide.” Clint shrugged. “Stark’s a good guy.” He wanted to make sure Fury knew that. “He saved my life.”

“That he did.” Fury nodded. “You’re a legend around here. Not even the great Phil Coulson could catch you.”

That entire sentence astonished Clint. “I knew Coulson was great, but you agree? And he’d have caught me, just a matter of time.”

Fury chuckled. “How can you fall for a guy you’ve only seen through a scope?”

Clint blushed down to his feet. “Well, in San Diego, I followed him around for three days.”

“You did not.” Fury glared at him.

“Trickshot put me on him to make sure we got the jewels with no interference.” Clint smiled, remembering the feeling as if he was on vacation, even if he’d basically been living on the street with no protection. “He lost his cell phone, the taxi took him to the wrong location, and his suit was ruined by a window cleaner. That was before I spiked the food of his backup team, and they all got the blazing shits.”

Fury stared at him, not even blinking. “That was his favorite suit.”

“I’m sure he was sad.” Clint walked away from him, going to the far window to stare out at the world. “What’s your plan? I know you have one.”

“I’m getting a team together, and I want you to be on it, but first, I want you to trust us.” Fury went to his desk, sat down, and picked up his phone. “Security, please escort Barton to the helicopter and then the airport.” He met Clint’s eyes firmly. “There’s a plane there that’ll take you wherever you want to go in the world. No strings, no trackers, no interference. You’re not chipped. Security will give you a new ID, money, and anything else you ask for.”

Clint felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. “Trickshot?”

“He’s at a Shield facility, where he will remain for the rest of his life.” Fury opened up a laptop and turned on a conveniently placed tablet. “If you ever decide to work for us, there will be contact information with the ID you will receive. Call, and we’ll be there.”

Security opened the door, and Clint couldn’t even move his feet. He’d expected… to be told, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He could choose. Suddenly, he was a child again, trying to decide between two candy bars because his mom said he could have one. That memory rushed away, and he was in his loft at Stark’s house, staring out at the ocean and wishing.

The only way to know for sure was to leave. Take that plane and go. But he could’ve done that when he was with Tony. He’d proven it by getting his weapons back from his stash. Movement behind the security guards caught Clint’s eye, and it was Coulson. Coulson was trying not to be seen. Clint had watched him, seen his face so many times, no emotion, but not today. Sadness was all over Coulson’s face, and Clint wanted to wipe it away.

Clint swallowed hard, scared, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been scared. He screwed up his courage and made his choice. His stride was hesitant, but he made it there, and he reached, hand in mid-air. “Can I choose you?”

And Coulson smiled, wide and true. “I wish you would.” And he took Clint’s hand in his own. The touch was perfect, warm and strong, and Clint never wanted to let go.

“Take a week and then get back to work. You’ll be dealing with Stark when he demands his property back,” Fury said.

“You’re not a pet,” Coulson said, not taking his eyes off Clint’s face. “And please don’t ever say the word ‘neuter’ again.”

Clint pulled him close, wanting to kiss him. “I’m not, just for the record.”

“Please! Go the hell away!”

Coulson laughed, and started dragging Clint out of the office. Clint let him, laughing as they quick-marched past the security guards. “I’m not a pet!” he yelled, because he could.

“People are not pets,” Coulson growled, not turning him loose. Clint assumed they were going to Coulson’s quarters, so he was a little shocked when they ended up on the roof, climbing in a helicopter. “You may regret this choice because I’m never letting go of you.”

“Why would you want this?” Clint asked, wind whipping his words away. He knew his reasons, his wishes, and his crazy desires, but that meant nothing, it never had. Coulson helped him strap in and handed him a headset. The helicopter rose straight up quickly, and Clint grinned in delight. He wanted to pilot this baby.

A tap on his hand brought him back to Coulson, who said, “I’ve been watching and wanting a long time. And you owe me a suit!”

“That was a private conversation! You damn spy!” But Clint laughed, loving it. The helicopter swooped to the right, and Clint whooped. Coulson gripped him tighter, and they were flying.

********

It was easy, so damn easy, to pull Clint into bed and start stripping his clothes off. A private plane with all the amenities wasn’t to be wasted, after all. They were headed back to California to help with the Iron Man Incident, but right now, there was time to indulge.

“You are gorgeous,” Coulson whispered into Clint’s skin, kissing and licking every bit as it emerged. Clint wiggled and tried to return the kisses, but Coulson ignored that in favor of his own mission objectives. “I’m going to need to start over again once I finish.”

“I’ve got a lot of scars,” Clint said, using his talented hands to keep up with Coulson. The plane took off while they were still half-dressed, and Coulson used the momentum to get Clint flat on the bed with him on top. Clint grinned up at him. “Nice move.”

“I have a few.” Coulson peeled Clint’s shirt off and nearly drooled on his muscular chest. He’d been so scared that Clint was leaving that he’d been nothing but light-headed since they clasped hands. “I never want to lose sight of you again.”

Clint stretched and slid his hands into Coulson’s trousers. “You’d never even seen me until Stark’s.”

Coulson made sure his face didn’t change. “Sure.” He bit his way to Clint’s neck and burrowed in to such a red spot. Clint flipped them, easily, and poked Coulson in the stomach.

“You’re lying. When? When did you see me?” Clint sounded incredulous.

“So many times. Just--.” Coulson gasped as Clint slid his trousers and underwear down in one move. “Couldn’t catch you!” It’d been frustrating as hell. “You’d vanish into thin air.”

“It’s a talent of mine.” Clint used his foot to get Coulson’s pants off in one slick move. Bare skin made Clint gasp, and they were rubbing together. Grabbing two handfuls of Coulson’s ass, Clint found the perfect fit, and Coulson groaned right before pushing his tongue deep in Clint’s mouth.

The part of Coulson’s brain that was always working, even while he slept, came to a shuddering halt, and he lost himself in the heat. When his brain started humming again, he was covered in come and facing Clint’s grin.

“Did you pass out there for a minute?”

“Maybe.” Coulson tugged him down into another kiss. “Stark is going to be surprised.”

“Betcha a tenner he isn’t.” Clint laughed. “This job is awesome so far.”

Against his will, Coulson laughed with him. “Just wait. It’s going to get so much better.”

********  
end

**Author's Note:**

> I started this set of stories about a month before Trump was elected. It was my brain, trying to imagine something horrible that the maniac would do if elected, which I was sure he wouldn't be. It was very difficult to finish these two stories, given that we have immigrant children living in dog cages and ICE running wild throughout the country. Resist.


End file.
